


The Dragon's Ascent

by Syolfor



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 04:43:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9476255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syolfor/pseuds/Syolfor
Summary: Not everyone is made for what is expected of them. When an empire falls and his whole world with it, Genji has no other choice but to be reborn. The storm that ensues threatens to take over not only him, but the peace others fought so hard for. Crashed and burnt, his only hope is far and unattainable. He seeks for an answer in the most unexpected of places, and follows an angel back into the skies.





	1. Ashes

# Ashes 

The death of his father had been as much a surprise to himself, as it wasn’t to the rest of the clan. If he had had the time to think about it, he would probably question the knowing stares that passed between guards as he walked the corridors. If he had ever actually attended any of the latest meetings, he would have probably been angered by the high amount of plans that no longer needed his father’s consent. At the time, his life seemed set in stone.

Now, as the echoing sounds of his running feet bounced between alleyways and the neon signs on the walls slowly flickered off, there was no time to question how he let it happen. Now, he could only fear the unrelenting shadows that kept catching up to him. Most of them faceless, and yet a single one that he knew too well.

He would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t know how it came about. All the signs had been there for the longest of time. Even before he knew how or why he had to obey, the stares and whispers of the family had followed him. They called him weak of mind and lacking of duty. To him, they were mere ants manipulated by his father. While he could go out and reap the benefits of the clan’s money and status, it was them who had to dirty their hands for it. He never had to. To be honest, he relished in the idea of them beneath him, struggling to reach that which had been given to him since birth. Below his father’s care he was untouchable, invincible, and most importantly, unpreoccupied.  


Now they stood watching him through spies and hidden bystanders, mocking him. While he fled and climbed the walls of the city he once walked through freely, while his own brother shot behind him without mercy, they mocked. He knew it. Despised them for everything they had taken from him in such a small amount of time. His home. His family. His future. They had taken it all and now reached for his life.  


The sword on his back bounced heavily against him as he ran. In his eyes, the weapon given to him for protection was at the moment no more than dead weight. Of what use could it be when escaping through narrow streets, or hiding amongst piles of garbage? Nothing. Just as much as the time spent within his home’s walls, or the conversations held with soft smiles between brothers. It all amounted to nothing.  


He knew he couldn’t run forever; his breathing came in short gasps and his legs struggled to keep him upright. He didn’t intend to. He never had. Some part of him still hoped a second option would appear before him, let him be someone else. His mind began to reel and tangle, looking for a solution. Remembering fighting techniques. Regretting.  


Eventually, his own confused steps led him back to the only safe place he could remember. His home. By the time he realized where he was, he already knew it was too late. The foreboding steps that echoed through the eerie emptiness of the mansion only served to make his breath hitch.  


“How very fitting to come here, brother.” He spoke as he always had. With disdain. Genji turned. For a split second he tried to remember a time his brother’s brow was not furrowed. It didn’t come.  


“There is no place left to go now. No dark alleys to creep in or pretty girls to fight over.” Slowly, he reached behind him to pull an arrow from his quiver, carefully docking it into the bow. Genji’s eyes darted from place to place, measuring.  


“You know you cannot run now, brother.” Their eyes met. Genji tried to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat and what came out was a low, animalistic grunt. “It is about time you learned to face your destiny head-on.”  


The first arrow came fast and hit hard. The shock of the hit, however, was a lot harsher. A part of Genji still hoped this was nothing more than a brotherly quarrel to set him straight, as many had been before. That a couple of punches could be enough to get his message across. Now, an arrow stuck out from his shoulder, and realization slapped him across the face.  


He had limited options. With his left harm compromised, he would be forced to wield his sword with a single hand. Climbing was out of the question. Another arrow was readied a split second later, and fired as he rolled out of the way. He unsheathed, and dashed forward with his sword pointed straight at his brother’s heart. Hanzo just pirouetted to the side and hit him with the bow across the back, sending him rolling onto the ground.  


“It is a shame, brother, that such a magnificent sword was given to someone who would rather spend his nights drinking, than training his body.” His mockery fueled Genji’s anger and resentment, forcing him to stand up and try a wild slash to the chest. Hanzo back stepped. Another slash. A pirouette. Another one, and in a smooth movement Hanzo sent Genji’s sword rattling to the ground with a dull sound.  


Tears formed in Genji’s eyes, running freely through the creases of his snarl. It had always been this way. In all the training they had done together, Hanzo always came out on top. No matter how much he tried, how much he copied him or asked for extra lessons, he would end up beaten and mocked. Frozen by those cold, disappointed eyes. Eventually, he had stopped trying.  


“Why, brother?!” Genji’s voice crackled, fighting to be heard. “Why choose them over me, your own blood?!” His eyes lowered to the ground, defeated. “I don’t understand...” It came out almost as a whisper, and yet it seemed to vibrate and bounce in the emptiness of the house.  


Hanzo’s gaze came from above, scornful. “Of course you don’t Genji. You do not understand anything about duty and even less about family honor.” A kick into Genji’s stomach, and he crashed down. “You do not understand what it is to have an empire to uphold or a name to keep clean.”  


He loomed over his little brother now, punching his face in between words as his own lost all composure. “You will never understand anything about how we fight or why!” By now, Genji’s body had grown limp, responding only with twitches and grunts of pain. “By choosing to ignore who you are, you chose this!” Blood trickled down from Hanzo’s open knuckles and Genji’s battered face, indistinct. “You chose to abandon your family for your petty, egotistical pleasures!” Hanzo stood, panting. He scoffed at the lowly view beneath him, blowing loose strands of hair from his face. He grabbed Genji’s head, pulling him into a kneeling position where he could barely keep upright. 

Slowly, Hanzo unsheathed the sword strapped onto his back, looking it over with a scowl. “You ask me how I can choose them over my own brother. You are wrong. I have no brother.” He raised the sword high above his head, looking at his brother for the last time. For a brief moment, his posture trembled and his eyes watered. Then they steeled. With a sharp movement his sword slashed across his little brother’s chest, cutting and splattering blood into the scroll behind him.

  


Genji laid on the floor, barely conscious. He couldn’t feel his body at all. His sight was blurry, but it didn’t matter. He perfectly remembered his home. He remembered the beige flooring that now was tainted red with his blood. He remembered the beautiful gardens beyond the entrance, and the dragon painting above him. To him, it was all there. He could walk among the corridors of the house. He could see his father’s silhouette inside his studio, barely illuminated by fickle candlelight. He could walk up to his brother, and meditate with him even if he never did it before.  
He was calm. Even if everything around him turned red and then black. Even if screams and gunshots faintly made their way to him, and an uncomfortable coldness creeped around him. In that moment, he could walk among the ashes left behind by his body, and let himself be taken away by a single, warm voice.


	2. Doubt

# Doubt 

It had been a busy week for Dr. Ziegler. She sat on her reclined chair, staring vacantly at the ceiling of her lab. Her ponytail had long lost its hold on her hair, letting loose strands drop. Dark bags pooled under her eyes, and the dense smell of sweat surrounded her like a mantle. In that moment, she was disgusted with herself. Not because of her state, but the things she had agreed to. Her hand scribbled absently on a blueprint, and then reached for one of the many unfinished cups of coffee in her reach.

Ever since she had officially joined Overwatch, it seemed paperwork and research piled on her desk endlessly. It didn’t bother her at all. To her, this meant she was making advancements and being helpful. It didn’t mean, however, that she couldn’t use a little recreation. That being more work. Personal projects and field medicine always got enough adrenaline pumping through her veins to keep her from growing lethargic. 

The Valkyrie suit had been the epitome of both. It had taken several years only to flesh out the idea enough to begin working on actually building it. A couple more to have a working prototype. Now test rides were the next step to a functional result. Of course, she would let nobody else use it for her. She might argue it was not completely safe in its current state, or that the necessary knowledge to operate it was already known to her. The real reason was, in a way, much more selfish. She wanted to be the one to save people, to know everything first-hand. 

Many had argued she was not ready. That the cruelty of a real battlefield would be too much for a girl her age. She had smiled, reassuring those above her that she would come to no harm. That she would be safe. But internally, she had scoffed at them. She knew perfectly what a battle entailed. She had been in several. She had seen enough death and suffering to know that she needed to be there. 

And yet, when she had stepped out of the carrier wearing her suit and distant gunfire reached her, a knot had formed in her stomach. She despised violence. She hated the idea of people dying, of people hurt. And she had been afraid. Even when Morrison himself had guarded her closely and a platoon of highly trained soldiers had already swept the area. She had been afraid to fail those in need, and experience death again. 

When they had first found the highly mutilated body right at the mansion’s first room, they had wasted precious seconds. People had prevented her from approaching, saying it might be an enemy. She didn’t give a damn. Not then, not now. To her, a body that is in need of care falls under no special clauses. The suit had taken a little more time to fully engage than she had expected, but soon the gentle stream of biotic nanobots had helped her stabilize him. 

His breathing had been greatly spaced and weak, and his body temperature had already begun to drop. She had spoken to him gently. Encouraging him. She didn’t know if patients actually heard her. It was more of a hopeful chant to keep herself focused than anything else, but she always did it. As with many things, her work involved much more luck and hope than others perceived. They had watched her intently, still weighing the chance of him being an enemy, battling with uncertainty. But once he had been sufficiently stabilized and she had ordered it, they had carefully carried him to the carrier. 

The rest of the night had passed by in a similar pace. She had healed and tested. Sometimes protected. When the stars had slowly begun to fade and light hit her skin, the troops had been recalled. As she had walked through the mansion’s entrance, dirty with blood and tired from work, she had looked up at the garden’s trees. The cherry blossoms hadn’t flowered. 

  
  


A sudden knock at her lab’s door startled her, making her jump in her seat. It was the head surgeon, beckoning her towards him. She already suspected what he was going to say before she even stood up from her chair. A pit of annoyance and discomfort settled in her stomach, threatening to rip her fake smile apart. She opened the glass door, waiting for him to speak. 

“The patient has woken.” For a second her lips trembled, giving her away. The man in front of her eyed her up and down, grimacing. “As has been stated previously, it is your duty to gain his consent for the procedure.” A small, crooked smile pulled at the corners of his lips. He seemed amused. “Of course, it IS to be expected of a young, beautiful girl such as yourself to coax any man into her will.” Angela frowned slightly, fighting to keep her calm. 

“As has been discussed amply before, I will comply with the orders given.” She hated bargaining. And manipulating. She knew perfectly well that the only reason for her to get the consent was because of her gender and age. Always the pretty image, always thought to be naïve. She had disagreed with the surgery completely. But she had been called young and unwise. As if turning the man into a weapon was the right thing to do. “And I’m sure that you know I do not agree in any way with this so-called enhancement procedure of yours.” She threw the words at him, almost spitting through her stiff smile. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a form to prepare.” She didn’t bother to keep her facade once the door slammed shut, hoping the man would see her annoyed expression clearly as she turned around. 

Now, it was time for a bath. She let the thoughts run freely through her mind as the warm drops of water did through her body. No matter how much she obsessed over it, she never seemed to reach an alternate solution. The commanders wanted the militaristic approach of Overwatch to continue unbound. For them, the young man currently in the brink of death was nothing more than an opportunity. A mean for their violent ways. It was not right. She would have never taken part in this if it weren’t for the other option. Either he lived to become a cybernetic weapon, or he died. No follow-up treatments. No second chances. It was clearly stated that if the procedure was refused, Overwatch would immediately cease any life support. That meant her patient would die. That she would let another life slip past her. 

She sighed. The water had begun to run cold. With a final scrub she stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel. As she let her hair down and began to run a brush through her hair, her mind continued to loop. It just wasn’t fair. The man had no direct involvement with Overwatch whatsoever. Sure, he had been found inside the mansion of the Shimadas, one of the largest criminal organizations in Japan. But definitely anyone killed by the Shimadas could not be part of them. The reaction seemed disproportionate to her. Something was missing. 

As she walked the long halls of the Japan headquarters and entered the patient’s room, her will steeled. He laid there, tubes connecting him to countless machines that buzzed silently. His breathing was more of a continued gasp. His face was still swollen and unrecognizable. His eyes were closed, but she doubted he could sleep. This man should not be forced to take this decision. She should not be forced to present it. It was all wrong. And inevitable. 

“Hello.” As the cold voice of a professional left her mouth, the disgust inside of her grew. “I am Dr. Ziegler. I was the one to find and stabilize you. It seems that you have finally woken. How do you feel?” She knew the question was idiotic. He felt like shit. The weak groan that came from him also proved he couldn’t speak. 

“Take it easy. You had several broken bones and severe organ damage. You lost too much blood.” With difficulty, his eyes opened enough for her to see the brown iris in-between his burst veins. He probably could only see blurry contours and shadows. 

“It is highly unlikely that you will survive without the introduction of technological aid.” She gulped. It was true. In order for him to go on and live a normal life he needed prosthetics and organ implants. Maybe if she phrased it correctly she wouldn’t need to lie. 

“It would involve partial reconstruction of your body with cybernetic parts.” His pupils dilated, and his breathing rate increased. The swollen mess of his face morphed into what she could only guess was a frown. “This procedure is highly invasive. And dangerous. We would need your explicit consent for it to go through.” She could feel the pressure in her stomach increasing, threatening to make her vomit. 

“O-of course we would maintain the highest security considerations for your well-being.” She could feel herself sweating. His expression was bewildered. He probably didn’t even know where he was. Silence followed, only broken by his mismatched breathing. It had been instructed to her that the less information she gave, the better. But she couldn’t do it. She would not play with half-truths. 

“However… there is something Overwatch would like for you to do in return for their help.” She looked away into her lap, re-reading the form. She could feel his eyes burning her, questioning. She wanted nothing else but to bolt out the door. 

“This… procedure.” She had to compose herself to continue. “Involves the installation and use of non-essential prosthetics and enhancements.” His eyes didn’t react for a while. When the information finally was processed, they darted. If his breathing got any more erratic, she would probably have to sedate him. 

“Overwatch also expects these enhancements to be put to use in any matter they see fit.” How could she be part of an organization that could do this? That could undermine the basic human right of freedom? Were those few more lives she saved truly worth this? She could see he was desperate now. That she was desperate. 

“This conversation is being taped. Please, blink once if you agree and twice if you disagree.” She truly hoped that he would just agree. That he would make it easier for both of them. But he didn’t. Furiously, he blinked twice in rapid succession. She sighed, letting a silent whimper escape her at the end of it. 

“I- I should clarify.” She moved slightly, scraping the form with her pen. “If it is decided the procedure is not to be done… Overwatch will immediately stop providing any health care or aid.” The last words came rushing, in a much more high-pitched voice. He grew still. Stopped breathing. His heart monitor beeped alarmingly. 

Even before he turned and blinked once, she knew he had given up. His weak shoulders plummeted, and all the tension that he had built up seemed to deflate. She stood up, thankful her legs still managed to keep her upright. As she moved to the door at a hasty pace, she could still feel his blank stare on her back. She needed to vomit. 

  
  


The day of the surgery came much faster than she wanted. She was needed inside the operations room. The prosthetics and implants chosen for the reconstruction of the man were infused with biotic technology. Ones she had developed herself. They were meant to be used to alleviate the host body’s initial rejection of foreign bodies. While theoretically they also augmented the body’s resistance and regeneration, she never intended for them to be used this way. Somebody had taken her designs and adjusted them, introduced storage passageways, hydraulic devices, sharp edges. 

As she stood near the surgeons, adjusting the flow of nano machines into the body, she watched. Watched as they unceremoniously cut off his extremities, even those which still could be used. Watched as they opened him up and pulled at his insides. Watched as they screwed her prosthetics onto him, and tried their functions with electric shocks. Watched as a broken man slowly turned into something complete, but inhuman. 

When the surgeons left the room, and he was finally left in her care, she extracted the fine tube with which she had injected him. She looked at him with a face so contorted with unshed tears she could feel it cramp. She whispered an apology to him, through chokes and whimpers. She refused to look at her own face, reflected by the shiny plates that she had helped create.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. the angsty angst begins.  
> I decided to portray both Genji and Mercy as much more unsure.  
> Descriptions might also be slightly.. specific.  
> Let me know what you think.


	3. Stranger

# Stranger  


There was a gentle buzzing, like the incessant crashing of waves in a beach. He could feel it behind his ears and vibrating through his chest. It was reassuring at first, but now it had begun to palpitate. To push and invade his thoughts. The volume increased to the point he had to open his eyes. It diminished, but didn’t go away. He looked around. Hundreds of cables connected him to machines he vaguely remembered. The pristine white sheets covering him only disoriented him further. His body was stiff, but strangely weightless. Any kind of movement took a lot more concentration. With a frown, he let his head drop back into the bed. 

Distant memories begun to bleed into his mind, blurred and fragmented. A hospital, clearly. Someone asking for consent. Anger and pain. So much pain. But why? A fight? Maybe in the arcade, or a bar. Hanzo would kill him when he got home. A pang of fury. That wasn’t it. He remembered his brother’s face. He had been there. He had been yelling. He had been… chasing him? Because of father. Yes. Hanzo had… killed him. 

He sprang up from the bed with a gasp, realization sinking in. He wasn’t dead. And this was not a hospital. His heart threatened to burst through his chest. The stiffness was gone. His face decomposed into a snarl and a yell. Yes. As he crushed the covers between his hands and cursed, he remembered. That bastard had stabbed him in the back. His own blood. For duty, he had said. He scoffed and threw the sheets with all the force he could muster. They tangled in the cables. He looked down. 

His arm. All thoughts stopped. For a second, his mind became blank. Then it exploded. What kind of shit was this? Metal? A bloody prosthetic? The consent. A doctor had visited him. Said something about technological aid. The words non-essential prosthetics burst through. Fumbling, he managed to remove the sheet completely after several tries. This… couldn’t be happening. Just below the gown, his knees were metal. His calves. His feet. He tried to move his toes. They weren’t there anymore. 

He needed to stand up. To find a mirror. He plucked the cables out as fast as he could, ignoring the pain. Twisting and stumbling, he fell to the floor. Cold sweat formed on his face, dripping onto the floor and drenching his gown. Every order he gave took seconds to occur. The stiffness had come back. He had to use the bed as leverage, pulling himself up. There was no mirror. Only machines, whiteness and that bloody logo. Overwatch. 

He would have to find himself a mirror. Every single step was lengthy, premeditated. He buckled countless times. Sometimes managing to grab something, others falling to his knees. Eventually, the glass door was right in front of him. The hall was empty. Even if alarms had gone off the second he unplugged himself, nobody seemed to come. He prepared to push, but froze. The reflection on the door was as clear as any mirror. 

It was as he feared. Metal plates covered every inch of the extremities he could see. Between the cracks, a muscle-like fiber engorged or thinned as he moved. But his face. It was... not his. Dozens of branching cuts divided it, red and swollen. His skin was pale, his eyes bloodshot. His jaw was gone, replaced by more plates and fiber. This was not him. Not remotely. This was not the face of someone who could get any girl to sleep with him. Of the charismatic king of the arcade. Of a powerful heir to a criminal empire. And definitely not of a dragon. 

A choke, and a whimper. With a powerful pull, he ripped the gown from himself. His chest was just as bad as his face. Where once carefully sculpted muscles rippled, pale skin and scars glared at him. Holes with metal cylinders laid across his stomach, glowing with a vibrant shade of green. 

His reflection coiled, falling into its knees. It curled and screamed, letting tears fall freely from its face. It pulled at its metal skin, uselessly. When the doctors finally arrived, it lashed out. Punching. Kicking. Cursing. When it was sedated, he watched it grow numb as his own sight grew blurry. He wondered why. 

As calmness finally took hold of him and doctors filed out of the room, licking their wounds, he wished he had told them to turn off the machines. The incessant buzzing hadn’t gone away.  
  
  


“Genji Shimada.” Jack’s voice was commanding, as always. He stood in the middle of the room, pointing at the holographic representation of her patient. “Heir to the Shimada clan, and our only chance to finally finish this operation.” A silent gasp ran across the room. Angela nodded. It was to be expected. As much as she wished for the man to be an innocent victim, she knew Overwatch wouldn’t treat just anyone with such a special treatment. However, her guts still tangled at the thought of what was done to him. 

“With the reconstruction of his body, we gained a skilled agent. The surgery has been done successfully, giving us-” A low grunt from the opposite side of the room stopped him mid-sentence. A visible shudder came from every person present in the room. “Cut the crap Morrison.” Gabriel sat with his feet propped on the table, casually looking at the ceiling. With a curt movement, he looked at Jack square in the eye. 

“This kid’s nothing more than your consolation prize. We all know the Shimada operation failed. Our intel lost all relevance the instant the head of the clan died. So stop trying to make it sound all grandiose and get to the point.” Jack glared at him, clearing his throat. With a gesture of his hand, he called Angela over. 

A long breath of air. Inhale, exhale. She stood up, and made her way to the front of the table. Everyone looked at her expectantly. It was no secret she had participated in the surgery. Even though she had been given no previous information about it, it apparently had been planned for a long time. She wondered if the decision of bringing her in was influenced by the creation of her prosthetics. The sole thought of it made her dizzy. 

She cleared her throat twice, and spread the holographic images necessary for her explanation. “Yes. His body was rebuilt with several enhanced prosthetics. Both his arms and legs were replaced.” She pointed at the blueprints of the extremities. “They are fitted with both biotic and mechanic technology, which will greatly increase his strength and agility.” The fact that they would also negate a great portion of tactile sensitivity was left out, mainly because she could not bring herself to say it. 

“The left arm was built with storage compartments for small weapons of choice, which will be decided by his strike commander.” Someone coughed. Jack looked at her, silently asking her to hurry up. “His feet have small retractable razors, which will allow him to traverse steep or even vertical surfaces, as well as mute the sound of his step.” She could tell them how he would lose most of his sense of taste, or how the prosthetics would demand he spend a great portion of his life in maintenance. How he would never be seen as human again. But they wouldn’t listen, and they wouldn’t care. 

“Above all, the medical department reminds you that even if his regeneration is faster than a normal human being’s, continued exposure to bullets or any kind of great force will kill him easily. It is in Overwatch’s best interest to use him sparingly.” She knew the last part would be ignored. As with any kid with a new toy, the military department would push him to the edge, testing just how far he could go. 

“And…” As her voice lost the professional intonations she commonly used, most looked at her with an annoyed expression. It was not uncommon for her to deviate from the carefully crafted speeches others made for her. They all knew she had a bleeding heart. It made them question her ability to make rational, objective decisions. She thought that made her the only person in the room to have a moral compass. 

“I hope you all will take into account the delicate state in which this patient currently is. He needs several weeks to completely ease into his new body, but more importantly, to adjust to his new life.” She looked around, sheepishly. Only Reyes and Jack were staring at her. “Thank you.” She slowly walked back to her seat, fighting the urge to yell at those who ignored even the most basic notions of empathy. 

“Thank you Dr. Ziegler.” Jack resumed from his seat, walking back up to the spotlight with determination in his step. His eyes gleamed with mischief. “Genji Shimada will be assigned to work as a Blackwatch agent.” A chair creaked angrily as Reyes adjusted his posture. 

“Training will start as soon as he can stand.” Angela huffed, busying herself with the files in front of her. “I conclude this meeting. I’ll leave him to you Gabriel.” With that, all stood up and walked orderly towards the door, trying to avoid the obvious confrontation that brewed between the two commanders. 

Angela walked behind them all, clutching the files to her chest. She wished to help him. To get him to adjust to what Overwatch could be. She knew it wasn’t perfect. But it stood for something. It was a beacon of hope to people around the world, who turned to them to advance towards peace. She knew nothing about what life was for him before, but maybe being here was better than dying by those closest to you. Maybe he would see she only wished the best not only for him, but for everyone. Maybe he would help her ease her guilt.


	4. Weapon

# Weapon 

Days were uneventful. Once the constant disbelief and self-pity gave way to anger, there was not much left to do. Being bed-ridden was as boring as being tutored by the mentors back at home had been. He couldn’t help but compare. Every person he saw, every conversation he heard, any emotion he felt were immediately translated. It made him miserable. 

At times, he would wake up disoriented. Would wonder and worry. Then he would remember, and the resentment would come back. After the first incident, he had been tightly secured to the bed. A doctor had come in and assured him there was no way out using violence. Not like he intended to actually harm anyone. Nobody knew he was there, and even if they did, they would let him rot. He didn’t want to be killed. He’d be dammed if the self-preservation that got him here in the first place didn’t serve its purpose. 

So, he was stuck with cables coming out of his body and restraints pinning him to a hard mattress. Like a monster. At times, it would become too much. He was never the calm type. He would thrash and yell, promising bloody murder to his brother and clan. The nurses steered clear of his room now. Better for him. He didn’t need any other white surface with an Overwatch logo. 

Now was one of those moments that seemed to occupy most of his awake time. Staring at the ceiling blankly, letting the bright lights guide his mind to paths of sweet vengeance. He stayed completely still. His arms and legs no longer had the necessity to twitch or move after prolonged periods of inactivity. They just dropped down. If he didn’t acknowledge them, it was almost like they weren’t even there. 

The door slid open with the characteristic sound of a high-end facility. It pulled him out of his thoughts. He was used to the constant check-ups and the curious stares of the personnel. They usually did their business silently and efficiently, letting him crawl back into his thoughts unbothered. Not today. As soon as they took the first step into the room, he knew they were not an every-day visit. It seemed like ages since he last heard the clacking of high heels. 

She was beautiful. Golden hair, classical features, and a graceful step that made her seem to glide. When she sat next to him and looked him in the eye, hers shone a deep blue. He was awestruck. Years of practice almost threw her an instant pickup line. He caught himself, the silent reminder of his reflection still fresh in his mind. 

“Hello Genji.” She spoke softly, like a caress. The way his name rolled off her tongue was enough to mitigate the surprise of hearing it again. “I’ve been informed by the nurses that your strength and coordination are making steady improvement. How do you feel?” It took him a while to answer, still not used to the otherness of his new mouth. 

“I feel fine.” Somehow, it felt like he knew her from somewhere. A distant dream, or maybe a nightmare. As much as she was beautiful sight, something in her presence made him uneasy. “Perfect! I will then remove your restraints. If you could please stand up for a quick demonstration.” As she nimbly undid all the clasps, he examined her face closely. She lacked the concealed disgust every other doctor had when they looked him over. Or maybe she was just a better actress. 

As he stood up and walked around the room, her eyes followed him. She kept a small, reassuring smile at all times, but her eyes didn’t wrinkle as they should. He couldn’t decide if they were sad, or pitying. “It seems all is in order. Fine motor skill is still lacking, but it is expected to develop soon enough.” She stood and headed for the door, the slight sway of her hips hypnotizing. 

“Please follow me. The commanders would like to see you.” She seemed to trust him. No trembling, no nervous looks over the shoulder. Pure confidence as she floated through the doors. A couple of weeks ago, she would have been his favorite type. Those he had to slowly coax into accepting him. Now, she only made him conscious of his state. 

“Who are you?” It hadn’t escaped him she didn’t wear a nametag. While he didn’t remember the names of any of the people that checked on him, the presence of the tag had become expected, familiar. She, on the other hand, was unmistakably different. The question made her turn around. Her smile still kept its place, but the nervous tremble in her voice hinted at something different. 

“Oh, I hoped you would remember me.” Her hands coiled. Her eyes refused to remain steady. “I am Doctor Angela Ziegler. Head of medical research.” Then it hit him. The blurred vision of a doctor asking for consent became clearer, morphing into a blond girl with beautiful features. His gut clenched and his head fell, trying to conceal the tell-tale features of his fury. He let her guide him, silently. 

A part of him had thought the girl would somehow not belong to Overwatch. That she hadn’t been part of what was done to him. Maybe her angelic features had misled him. Or maybe the prospect of living the rest of his life in a pathetic state had, for a second, made him yearn for something different. Something he could latch on. 

But he was alone. His clan had never wanted him there. His father was dead. His brother had chosen duty over him. Even an organization that proclaimed justice backhanded him when in his most vulnerable. He had no future to choose for himself. No place to go back to. No one to lean on. Even those that seemed kind or different would always choose themselves. He had no space for them anyways. And certainly no space for hope. As the sound of their steps filled the air, and moisture began to seep into his eyes, he chose to think of anything else. 

The place was much larger than he expected. It was an endless maze of glass surfaces he avoided looking at. Small touches of orange, blue and metal broke the monotonous white he had grown used to. He found it boring and inorganic. Flashes of the abundant gardens of his home entered his mind. There was no comparison. 

He had never given much thought to Overwatch. They were just a distant presence the clan tried to avoid. Now, the sheer magnitude of the imprint they left on the world was evident. As they traversed the corridors, ample windows let him catch glimpses of multiple buildings in the compound, as well as people working on all sorts of research he couldn’t understand. He was insignificant. 

“So… what do you think?” Her voice was muffled by the ample distance he had let grow between them, and yet it commanded his attention. Her question was left unanswered. He thought many things he couldn’t bring himself to say. Rather, he looked at her steadily, forcing them both into a stop. 

“I don’t need your pity. You have done enough.” He didn’t miss the sudden watering of her eyes, or how her lips twitched downwards to then press tightly into a line. He didn’t miss her jaw clenching and the way her hands grabbed her files for support. It felt good. Like victory. The rest of the walk passed by in silence and a feeling of triumph. 

  
  


“So, this is the famous Genji Shimada.” The man in front of him seemed to tower over him, even while reclining casually on the table. His presence was dense and intimidating. “Morrison, you never told me he would be this short… or ugly.” But that didn’t mean he would let himself be insulted. He was in no mood for the scornful stares and teasing speeches. As much as he had wished to punch the bastard’s wit out, the other man’s hand on his shoulder prevented him. Instead, he glared. 

“Cut it out Reyes.” The others presence was just as strong, albeit more professional. He removed his hand, noting the growing tension in Genji’s muscles. “I am commander Jack Morrison, and this is Gabriel Reyes, head of Blackwatch.” The man was a poster boy in every sense of the word. Blonde hair, chiseled features, toned body, determined stare. Probably also a dazzling smile. So much perfection made Genji recoil. This, for some reason, was amusing to Reyes. 

“It seems the runt has a better sense than I thought.” A deep grunt, and the man stood up completely and walked towards him with a purpose. “Listen kid. You are part of Blackwatch now. We are the ones that get shit done. We do things that no other part of this organization has the balls to do. It isn’t going to be pretty, or easy. You are under my command now. And you damn better be worth it.” Reyes eyed him up and down, seemingly satisfied with the glare he was receiving. “We start immediately. Morrison will lead you to the training grounds.” He looked at the other commander, almost expecting a refusal. But he remained silent. As the man walked towards the entrance, he suddenly turned around with a frown. “And go get something to wear.” 

Reyes exited the room, leaving behind the sound of heavy stomping. “You will find someone outside to guide you towards your quarters and the training grounds. Welcome aboard soldier.” Morrison wasn’t looking at him, but rather at the place Reyes had been. He seemed annoyed and angry. But above all, worried. Genji didn’t answer. He just headed towards the door. 

He encountered a man in the corridor who showed him just what he was told. On the way, he was given a training suit. He was received at the training grounds with shouts and expectations. His prosthetics refused to work properly, and the strain would sometimes leave him breathless. But through the ruthless orders of Reyes and the heavy sweat falling over his eyes, he found himself with the tiniest of smiles. It felt good to have a purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Genji is a little shit.  
> Also, it made a lot more sense to me that Genji would join Blackwatch rather than the "main" Overwatch.  
> EDIT: Genji is now confirmed to be a former Blackwatch agent. (Called it.)  
> Happy to hear your thoughts!


	5. Overwatch

# Overwatch 

It was simple enough. Get in, kill the target, get out. They had given him all the information he could need. Guard shifts, blueprints and schematics all laid down orderly, efficiently. There had been no real warning. One day, Reyes had simply called for him. The next he was aboard a glider headed for Japan’s headquarters, alone. His breathing was shallow, and he could feel the frantic beating of his heart. But he wasn’t nervous. A smile kept trying to creep on his face. When the carrier landed with a tremble and the door opened, he let it. 

He was immediately and discretely dispatched to the site. He could hear Reyes’ orders playing in his ears, reminding him of details that were forgotten as soon as they were heard. He wouldn’t fail. It didn’t matter most still thought he would run away or turn on them at the first opportunity. Didn’t matter that if he was caught, he would be left behind with no second thought. No. All other voices and opinions were background noise to him. He came with a single purpose, and that was to kill. 

He knew Overwatch was using him as an easy way to get rid of the Shimadas. They counted on his previous experiences to get the mission done. To him, there was no difference as long as his clan’s blood ran through his sword. The vehicle came to a stop, and a small pat on his shoulder signaled they were in position. He grabbed his weapons, running the side of his hand through the blade’s edge. It was given back to him some time after the first months of training. They told him it was found near him, drenched in his blood. The irony only served to make the moment sweeter. 

He recognized the building as one of the many warehouses where the clan stored weapons and other contraband. He used to come here with his father and brother to learn what they called “trading”. Hanzo and him would stand back as his father discussed numbers and shipments with the man in charge of the zone. Sometimes fights would break out or a rat would be flushed out. Behind the backs of bodyguards and the security of guns, those had been nothing but fieldtrips to him. 

Ahead, two guards stood at the entrance, barely illuminated by a dim light. They talked idly, not paying attention. He could have easily found a way around them. Yet, both men dropped to floor. A second later, he was entering the building unseen. The path wasn’t clear. As the night progressed, bodies fell one after another. He dodged, climbed and killed, adrenaline flowing freely through his body. The communicator buzzed, bullets bore into him, but to no avail. He could see the fear in their eyes, feel the strain, the pain. It was exhilarating. 

In the end, only the target remained. He had made sure it was that way. The sound of the man’s pleading echoed between the walls. Genji stood in front of him, letting his victory sink in. Letting the hatred boil within him. He took his mask off, but the man didn’t look at him. He had his arms above his head and his eyes on the floor. Sweat and tears rolled off his face. In some other situation, he might have recognized him. Now he only saw his death. 

Genji had so much to say. To scream and accuse. To blame. So he let his blade do the talking. When he finally walked away, the yelling in his communicator came through. The bodies on the floor became visible. The many wounds on his body bled. 

He was received at the headquarters by a very angry videocall. Apparently, he had jeopardized the operation and had refused to follow direct orders. They called his methods unnecessary and over the top. But he had completed the mission. He knew it. And they knew it too. He would be going back to Switzerland without mayor consequences. 

He spent the rest of the day away in the medical unit, replaying his first mission in his mind over and over. The hatred hadn’t gone away. It was still there, lurking. He felt sick. 

  


  


He sat in the carrier, quietly observing the people in front of him. Even now, after dozens of missions together, they kept a visible distance from him. It didn’t bother him. It made his work easier. When they worried for each other and stalled the mission, he could go ahead to fulfill his own. No restraints. So, when the carrier landed and they walked off together, he silently stared at their backs. He only knew the names of half of them. 

Reyes talked of cooperation, and the obligation of supporting your squad. When on missions, he restricted their interactions to only that. And even after all the times Reyes yelled for him to work with the team, they were still strangers to him. He exited the carrier with the sole purpose of getting to his room. Yet, he was stopped. 

Dr. Ziegler was waiting for him, as she did every time he came back from another murder. She would insist on running maintenance on his prosthetics, and redo any medical procedure performed by other doctors. He would try his best to avoid or ignore her, wanting nothing else than to distract himself. But she would get her way most of the time, apparently undeterred by his angry glares and lack of response. 

Most Blackwatch agents whispered behind his back. Said they would kill to spend some time with the doctor, have her “check on them”. He would give them his place if he could. The doctor annoyed him at her best, and made him remember many things he barely managed to keep out of mind. Her stare was by far the worst. Even if most people in Overwatch had already gone through the stages of fear, disgust and apprehension to eventually tolerate his presence, she was still stuck in pity. Her eyes looked at him the same way they did when she first offered him that smile, and it still made him feel the same anger. 

“Genji, over here.” Her voice was as warm as always. He at least had to accept she was perseverant. He stood in front of her, arms crossed. Her smile trembled for a second, but came back as intensely as before. “I have something I would like to show you. Something I’ve been working on.” She had never tried to show him any of her projects before. Their interactions had been strictly medical, and he was happy to keep them that way. He wanted to know where she got the idea that he would like to see her work. He began to speak and let her know he had no time for her pet projects, but she wasn’t finished. 

“It has to do with, uh…” She glanced at the retreating members of Blackwatch, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I think I found a way to give you back your taste.” He was surprised. Ever since his initial reconstruction, all other procedures had gone towards making him a better weapon. For him to jump higher, run faster. Never had someone proposed the idea of something so mundane. It seemed suspicious. At first, he thought maybe Overwatch was using him for testing. To see if the omnic freak could take yet another operation. But the doctor looked at him with wide eyes and a nervous smile, not the professional coldness other Overwatch members used with him. He nodded. 

He was nervous. The doctor said the operation had been completed without a hitch. He could feel the familiar numbness of anesthesia wearing out, but his mouth felt the same. It had barely been hours since he had been informed of the opportunity, but still it had been enough to raise his expectations. While he had been unconscious, he had dreamt of the delicate taste of fish, and the onslaught of flavor a full meal could bring. He had hope. And he knew how easily it could be crushed. 

The doctor arrived, carrying in her hands a small tray. She laid it out in front of him. They were chocolates. “These are swiss chocolates. The sensitivity might still not be as strong, but we should know if it worked by now. Try them.” He could see her expectations. The way she moved her weight from foot to foot, and slightly clenched her hands. He grabbed one, noting how it didn’t melt in his hand. Whatever the result was, he would remain inhuman. With a flick of his hand, he threw the chocolate into his mouth. 

For the first few seconds, he could taste nothing. He couldn’t help but show the disappointment on his face. The doctor frowned, and began to explain all the alternate procedures they could try. He didn’t hear her. Slowly, something sweet expanded in his mouth. Silky, creamy. It was watered down, bland. But it was chocolate. For the first time in more than a year, he could feel a genuine smile form on his face. And he let it be. 

The doctor looked at him with her own smile. As he ate all the chocolates on the tray, one by one, she began to recount all the research she had made. But he was far away. As the initial happiness began to diminish, he couldn’t shake a feeling of discomfort. The doctor he knew pitied him, but would always be professional. She had the same agenda as the rest of Overwatch. Therefore, she didn’t really care. 

“Why do this?” Her rambling slowly came to a stop, and her eyes lost the gleeful glint. “I wanted to help you.” She gently lowered herself on the bed, looking at him with that same old expression. “The nurses told me how much it affected you not being able to taste the food. I thought maybe this would help you feel… more human.” 

He could feel the anger rising within him before she even spoke her final words. With abrupt movements, he stood up and headed for the door. “You do not know what it is like. Of what it means to be human for me.” He stopped at the entrance, refusing to let her see his pain. “I’ve said this before. I don’t need your pity. And I don’t want it either.” She was silent. Then he exited the room, slamming the door behind him. 

At night, he sat in the dim lights of his room, staring at the steaming bowl of instant noodles in front of him. The package had been with him for a long time now, at the same time a sweet memory and a brutal reminder. He never thought he would ever cook them again. Once, eating had been a pleasure. Something he did with his friends after a fun-filled evening. Now, it was a chore only shared by himself and his room. 

The first spoonful was glory, as was the last and everything in between. Memories came crashing one after another, and the taste lingered long after he was finished. He looked at the empty bowl. His hand still lingered near it, clutching the chopsticks the same way he always had. And for a moment, he was human again. 

  


  


Another mission, another meeting with Reyes. At some point, it had come to be expected of him to do some wrong at them. It was something of a monthly chat of theirs, involving more yelling and angry glares than talking. Not this time. Reyes stood in the shadows, as always. His eyes were looking steadily at him, but his mouth didn’t move. 

It was Morrison in front of him. The one doing the yelling. As much as it was a special occasion the commander took time off his schedule to come talk, he couldn’t bring himself to listen. He knew what they wanted from him, and he damn right wasn’t going to give it to them. He was here for his own reasons. 

He had had to infiltrate and bring information. It hadn’t been difficult. Had he wanted to, it would have been done flawlessly. His abilities had been recognized early on, and someone had finally made the decision to send him on an important mission. Something about the function of god programs. He didn’t care. He wasn’t an errand boy. He wasn’t here to play fetch, and even less do it without killing a bastard. 

So, knowing what it is they wanted, he set out to do it in the most unpractical, problem-inducing way. He might have crossed a line, but he had lost the fear for his life the instant he noticed how they treated him. Beyond a soldier, and even beyond a human being, he was a huge investment and a dirty secret. As much as they preached about justice and “doing the right thing”, they would keep him around just to keep themselves intact. 

Even now, after knowing he had compromised the security of millions, all he could think of was what they could do about it. In the end, he had actually gotten it. Many people had died. Some had survived. Pictures of him along with many Blackwatch agents were circulating the internet. But the information was being decoded by Athena, and many more lives would be saved. 

“Look at me! Do you understand what you’ve done?” Morrison was livid. He spat at every word. Thankfully, it all stopped at his visor. “Are you even listening? Are you looking at me? For fuck’s sake… Take that thing off!” Genji froze. He crossed his arms defiantly, but remained silent. 

“Take that fucking thing off! Right now!” He didn’t want to. As a matter of fact, this had a long time coming. He didn’t move. Morrison was about to pounce on him. A vein popped out of his forehead, and his hands twitched forcefully. But he didn’t. He stilled, and let it out in a glare. 

“Stop being such a fucking brat. This…“ He gestured around him, still keeping his eyes on him. “Is good. What we do is good. We are fighting for a better future. And you? You are throwing it away. We gave you an opportunity-“ At this, words tried to fumble out of Genji’s mouth, fueled by a sudden rage he could barely control. But Morrison wouldn’t let him. He kept on talking, ignoring his words. “- to make something out of yourself! To take a better path!” 

He couldn’t let him finish. His rage wouldn’t. His words raised in volume, drowning Morrison’s voice under his own. “The only thing you gave me- the only thing you made me into, is a monster!” He walked forward. “What kind of better future could there be for someone like me?” Morisson looked at him. Unfazed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Reyes take a tentative step forwards. 

“Sometimes, sacrifices are made. You became what you needed to become, for the greater good.” Fury, and sharp yell. “A sacrifice I never chose!” Now, Reyes stood next to him, almost touching him. Morrison still glared at him from his pedestal. Like he understood everything. Genji scoffed. 

“It is easy to say that commander, when the greater good has never demanded a sacrifice from you.” He turned to leave. Neither of them tried to stop him. The corridors were as bland as they always were. Faceless people scrambled to get out his way. Others were pushed out of it. 

At the training grounds, piles of scrap piled at his feet. The force of his blade’s strokes was enough to shatter them. Those around him looked on with fear and hint of admiration. The speed and strength this new body had given him enabled him to do so much more. He was so much more. He was helpless. 

  


  


It was one of the many nights he couldn’t sleep. When he could find no comfortable position, and the buzzing broke the silence like an alarm clock. Nights he would stare at the uniform darkness above him, and think of what got him here. Of who was to blame. Of how things had changed. In nights like these, he knew there would be no rest. So he stood and dressed as he always did. Put on his armor and helmet, and headed for the training grounds. 

At first, these nights had been filled with screams and punches. With pained grunts and the destruction of anything that crossed his path. Now he let the fury tire him, waited for the memories to be swept away by his sweat. He knew they would come back. Maybe another night, maybe tomorrow. While eating. While walking. It was inevitable. So, it would start again. But for a moment, they would leave him alone. 

He had learnt the exact layout of the Swiss headquarters the first few weeks of training. He knew exactly how to get anywhere he pleased, and how to avoid anyone while doing so. At night, the bright fluorescent lights dimmed, and the doors to most rooms locked. Yet, the training grounds were always open. There was never a time someone wasn’t punching or shooting. Maybe they came here for the same reasons he did, wishing to forget. 

Today, only a single person shot at the targets. Over and over again, with mechanical precision. He stopped for a second when Genji approached, but didn’t speak. It was known that at night, it was a time for silence. Even more so when it came to the Shimada. 

Hours passed by with the same repetitive sounds of bullets and slashes. When the sun rose, Genji headed for his room. His muscles ached, and the heat inside his armor was suffocating. Still, his mind was unclear. In a last attempt at distraction, he took a wrong turn and headed for the cafeteria. He rarely came here. The idea of anyone being able to see his face disgusted him. There was a reason he almost never took his helmet or visor off. As Reyes had said when he first put it on, “It’s much better when we can’t see your ugly mug.” 

It was empty. The lights flickered on at his presence, illuminating the rows of tables in front of him. He sat down, resting his head on his hands. There was no escaping it. It would never go away. Not until he finished his mission. Not until he could see his brother’s eyes close forever. Maybe he was missing something. A clue. A witness. Maybe if he forced the information out of the next target he could get a solid lead. Maybe- 

“S’ mightly lonely in here at this hour, ain’t it?” His face snapped up, looking at the man in front of him. A ridiculous hat, a flashy belt and an obnoxious voice. That was Jesse McCree. Out of all the Blackwatch agents he was forced to work with, McCree was the only one that actively tried to talk to him. While most had given up after the first couple of tries, or had never gone near him in the first place, he was constantly there, trying his patience. 

“What are you doing here? Mopin’?” At some other time, he might have told him off, as he had done countless times before. Mc Cree would just shrug and move along. But he was too tired. His answer was silence. “Well, ain’t you rude.” Still, he moved to sit next to him, pulling out a cigar from under his clothes. For a while, neither said anything. McCree puffed out smoke, seemingly interested by the wall in front of him. Genji looked at the table below him, unable to continue his train of thought. The clinking of metal and leather followed the man’s every movement. 

“When I first came ‘ere, I really hated ‘em. All of ‘em.” He still stared in front of him, almost as if talking to someone only he could see. “They took everythin’ I knew from me. Wasn’t perfect, but it was somethin’ ya know?” He tapped the cigar, letting the ashes fall freely onto the floor. With his head propped on his hand, he turned to stare at him. 

“But you grow used to it. To anythin’. S’ only life after all.” With that, he stood up, throwing the remaining cigar with a flick of his fingers. “You and I should go get a drink sometime. Bein’ alone’s always the worst part.” He didn’t wait for an answer. Both knew there wouldn’t be one. A tip of his hat, and he disappeared back into the corridor. 

Genji stared at the empty entrance. At some point, his mind had cleared. The familiar fatigue of a long day slowly clouded his mind. Morning was already here and a shower was long overdue. A smirk stretched playfully on his lips, and he knew nobody would see it. A drink didn’t sound so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was feeling confused, these are snippets of Genji's years in Overwatch.  
> They take place months, or even years apart. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Change

# Change 

Morrison stood with his back to her, clutching the table next to him fiercely. His eyes stared intently at the hologram ahead of him. She could hear his labored breathing, could see the tension contorting his shoulders. Ahead of him, a single person spoke with the flat intonations of an impartial messenger. All around them, people stood like statues. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. The silence inside the room only managed to make the voice louder. Imposing. 

“-The images have circulated all over the world. Millions of people have shared them on social media, and governments are beginning to comment on the matter. While their source is still unknown, several reports have been made linking the famous hacker known as Sombra with the leaking of these images.” They looped. Over and over again. Men in black killing. Men stealing. Torturing. Most of them unidentifiable. And yet, the bright glint of metal and vibrant green among them so obvious. 

“Overwatch has denied any knowledge regarding the origin or nature of the images, refusing to make any further comment. So, what do you think Martin? Is Overwatch responsible for these men, or are we just being misled by this hacker?” Morrison’s knuckles were white. Below his hand, the table began to crack. Angela’s chest clenched. She knew what this meant. All people in the room did. Still, nobody spoke. 

“I don’t know Sophie. But their credibility is hanging by a thread. Their refusal may prove to be-“. A sharp sound, and then silence. Morrison stood in front of broken shards, his fist still raised. Then, he turned sharply and walked out of the room with heavy steps. He didn’t look at anyone. Didn’t spare a glance behind him. Nobody stopped him. 

Angela looked ahead. At the people in front of her. At the broken pieces of the hologram. At the cracks left behind by Jack. At nothing. Her mind was running ahead of her, and she couldn’t catch it. She was worried that something would happen to Genji. She was angry at the possibility of him being guilty. Nervous about the implications this had on Overwatch. Apprehensive on what was to come for everyone. Paralyzed. 

A scraping sound made her look at Gabriel. His eyes were dark. Determined. At some point in the past years, it had become his normal expression. He almost didn’t seem surprised. She had known him for such a long time. He and Morrison had been inseparable. The two pillars on which Overwatch rested. He may have been ruthless, crude. But she knew what he fought for. Now, a black sheet covered him, and she couldn’t see through it. 

Slowly, people began to stand up and trickle out of the room. There were many things to be done. She knew it. As much as she wished to stay in this darkened room and ponder, her time was limited. Tomorrow, things would begin to change. Maybe Genji had leaked the images. Maybe someone had figured a way through ATHENA. Maybe… this was the start of something a lot bigger. She looked at the retreating form of Gabriel, watching him disappear into the shadows. A theory began to form. And so, she picked herself up and headed for the door, as everyone else did. 

  
  


The place was empty. Dust piled in every corner. Dried blood tainted an old mattress in the middle of the room. There was no light except the silver rays of moonlight coming through the barred windows. He was long gone. If he had ever been here in the first place. There was no furniture. Nowhere to find a clue. It was the end of the road. It wasn’t the first time, but he had hoped it would be different today. He always did. 

Tension. His jaw clenched. He wanted to scream. To stab something. But he was also tired. So fed up. The sheer will to kill his brother had propelled him all the way here. Through so much. And every time he came near catching him, he disappeared. Leaving behind a witness to question. An ally to torture. Something. But not this time. The clan had long lost him. All his allies were killed or imprisoned. Witnesses could only know so much. For the first time in years, Genji realized he had no clear lead to follow. 

With a long sigh, he dropped himself onto the mattress. Stabbed it with his sword. The sound was dull. His eyes widened. Maybe, he had hidden something within the mattress. A name. An address. Maybe only a word. Franticly, he ripped it to shreds. His movements were fast, erratic. His hands moved within it, pulling out pieces of cloth and cotton to look at them under the dim light. Rusty coils scraped against his prosthetics, leaving marks. Above him, particles of dust and foam flew with his movements. 

Nothing. No paper, no secret box. His body stopped moving. He kneeled among the remains of the mattress, letting them cover him. He had fooled himself. He knew there was nothing more. But he couldn’t let it go. His eyes searched for holes in the walls. His hands shuffled on the wooden floor, looking for loose planks. To no avail. 

He remained still. It seemed he couldn’t breathe. The image in front of him was of chaos. The floor boards had been ripped out, the walls scraped down. His fingers had clear indents on them, and he could feel a sharp pain pooling in his chest. He could see himself from afar. Freckles of dust and cotton dimming him. Low. Pathetic. And he could, for a moment, see his brother standing behind him. He would confirm what he already knew, and had repeated countless times. That he was useless. That he had never been worthy. That he was better off dead. 

But he wouldn’t let the bastard get his way. He would erase him and his words forever. And as the life drained from his eyes, he would look at him from above and smile. He stood up. Yanked his sword from the floor, and looked behind him with a glare. His brother wasn’t there, but he would find him. He headed for the exit, glancing back for the last time. He turned back and tore the window open, letting moonlight flood the room. 

  
  


The atmosphere at headquarters was tense. And he was in no mood to deal with it. He had plans to do, information to collect. Upon his arrival, he had wanted to head for the archives to demand ATHENA give him all previous knowledge regarding his clan. Instead, he had been immediately surrounded by agents the moment he stepped out of the carrier. Orders had come directly from Morrison. He wanted him in his office. 

People in the corridors whispered as he passed, while the agents around him remained silent to any of his questions. He had been spared this treatment for years now. Going back wasn’t something he desired. They had never been nice to him, and he hadn’t been either. But as years passed by, he had become a teammate. A part of Overwatch. Even if he couldn’t call any of them his friends, he still felt betrayed. 

He had to remind himself of how Overwatch was as much a tool for him, as he was for them. At the end of the day, their opinions changed nothing. Right now, he was being escorted like a criminal. Some might say he was, after murdering hundreds. Some might say even before, being born into it. He didn’t question it. It meant nothing. In a way, they all were. The only difference was who achieved their goal. 

What was important was how much information Overwatch could give him. How much he could piece together to get another lead. He had reached an agreement with Reyes. Among Overwatch, he was one of the few that understood his thirst. The need. But for the past few months, he had rarely seen him. Something was wrong. When Reyes was present, he looked blank. When he was gone, it was for prolonged periods of time. He didn’t care for the man’s personal life, but there was something ominous in him. 

He stepped into Morrison’s office, expecting his familiar glare and patronizing attitude. Instead he found him seated, staring intensely at a hologram on his desk. Across from him, doctor Ziegler talked to him with hushed tones. They looked at him. Morrison’s nostrils flared, his fists clenching tightly. He gestured for him to approach. He had never liked following instructions. Not when his father gave them, and not now. Morrison had always had a hard time trying to get him in line. But now, he felt his previous annoyance wither. There was something disturbing in the way the commander refused to look away from him. 

He walked to the edge of the desk, adopting his standard defiant pose. The doctor cast sidelong glances at him, frowning. Morrison moved the hologram in front of him. There were pictures. Blurred. Dark. At a first glance, it seemed like any other surveillance footage. Then he saw silhouettes. A glow. Morrison’s eyes glared through them. He began to speak, to question. But the man only flicked his finger, letting the images slide one after another. 

It was him. It was Blackwatch. And it was murder. Theft. Torture. He recognized the places. He grew uneasy. He knew about these photos. Had even let some be taken in an act of spite. But they had all been silently retrieved by Blackwatch. Destroyed. Yet, he saw them right in front of him. Morrison spoke. 

“You know what this is.” It wasn’t a question. “It is the only thing the world has talked about for the past week.” A knot formed in his throat. “I am sure you are happy now. Your little games have finally worked. You screwed us over.” Morrison couldn’t possibly believe he was the one behind it. He needed Overwatch. He wouldn’t gain anything from it. It didn’t make any sense. The commander knew it. He must. And still, the flame in his eyes couldn’t be colder. 

“I don’t know- I don’t care about why you did it. But let me set something straight. You-“ He interrupted, desperately trying to get words out of his mouth. He was scared. “It wasn’t me!” His yell bounced. Silence fell over the room. Morrison’s face quickly contorted into a furious snarl. He stood up abruptly, slamming both of his palms on the table. The doctor flinched. Genji remained still, his heart beating wildly. 

“It couldn’t have been anyone else! I know Gabriel gave you access to Blackwatch’s files! Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think we will just stand idly while you tear apart all we worked for? All I worked for?” He was leaning forward. His face was red. His neck was swollen. Genji could feel sweat forming under his helmet. The insurance he had relied on to keep him alive was gone. He was terrified. 

“Jack.” The doctor’s voice cut through the rage. Her face was folded sternly. She looked at the commander straight in the eye, unflinching. Morrison glared at her. Then at him. He sat back down, smashing the hologram off. “I will not permit you to remain in Overwatch any longer. You have completed your mission. If it were up to me, you would be accused of treason.” His eyes wandered to look at the doctor, glaring at her. “However, some don’t share my opinion.” 

Genji’s heart buckled wildly. He stared at the doctor, surprised. Glad. Her eyes were cold. Morrison continued. “You will leave immediately. Know that you will be tracked at every moment. If you take even one step out line, we won’t be so lenient.” It wasn’t fair. He didn’t deserve this. He had done everything they asked from him. He had been their weapon. Their tool. And now, they just got rid of him. But he knew he couldn’t risk it. He searched for the doctor’s reassuring smile, but didn’t find it. For the first time, she looked at him differently. He missed her pity. 

“Leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, the beginning of the end.


	7. Nomad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ####  **Warning!  
> **   
>  Mild suggestive/sensitive themes ahead

# Nomad 

At first, he had felt lost. As much as he had wished for his freedom before, the way it was given made him reluctant. The feeling of being watched had followed him for days. He expected Overwatch agents to barge through the door any moment, and accuse him of his crimes. But months passed by, and they never came. 

For the first time in years, his actions were his alone. In that moment, he had beamed one of the biggest smiles he had ever experienced. His life was his to make and destroy. He answered to no one. In that moment, he had gone out to the streets of Zürich and yelled his future to the empty skies. 

First, he needed to find his brother. Once he was dead, the rest would easily fall into place. For that, he needed money. He had traveled back to Japan and worked in what he did best. Killing people. He did the job silently and efficiently. He knew he could never trust his clients, and they would never trust him. But he got paid more than enough. 

The first jobs had been small. Beating up someone, setting scores straight. While the fear of Overwatch had still been there, they hadn’t come for him when gang members were being murdered, and neither when government officials started to disappear. There hadn’t been a single threat, a single sign. They were silent. Uncaring. 

It was no surprise violence and corruption were prevalent all around the world when the supposed overseers were uninvolved. His clients always joked about it. Called Overwatch ‘The blind justice’. It made him angry. He had slaved away as their weapon for five years, and gained nothing. All the things they said were for a better future, meant nothing. The world was still a shitty place, and he still led a shitty life. 

They were on the news daily. He saw past faces talking about justice and the greater good. Saw them failing to answer the questions that were the most important, and deny any covert operations. Deny him. Saw Morrison starting to buckle under the weight of the public opinion. And he wished for him to fail. 

Now, sitting idly in front of his television and waiting for the next contract to come through, he wasn’t enjoying the freedom he wanted, but the life they had forced him into. They had built him to their taste. He couldn’t do anything but fight. And he wanted nothing else. They could go to hell. Not for changing him, but for forgetting. 

  


  


It was difficult to find a girl willing to serve him. Most felt repelled by his body. The others by his face. Their prices rose to impossible amounts the instant he took his visor off. Sometimes, he would just pay as much as they wanted. Money wasn’t difficult to get. Others, he found one desperate enough. 

In the beginning, he had sought the prettiest ones. A nice body and a flirty smile. He had spent a small fortune in each of them. But he soon realized it wasn’t worth it. A much as wished to keep a sliver of pride, they wouldn’t let him. No matter the price, their face was always the same. The disgust. The fear. They wouldn’t let him forget. 

This one was new. Unexperienced and naïve. The way she did her makeup and clothes made it obvious she needed the money. She hadn’t asked any questions. Just nodded and followed him in silence. She reminded him of the time girls would blush at his advances. When his smile made them look away meekly. Until the clothes came off. 

She was thin and flat, small in every aspect. Her hips cut abruptly to the small curve of her waist. She was plain, but attractive. As any average Japanese girl her age. When he took his clothes and visor off, he could see her face shift. The surprise, repulsion, and concealed fear. Her frown and shiver. But she didn’t call the agreement off. 

It all passed by as it usually did. Her tense body recoiling at his touch, her eyes avoiding looking at him. The raw noises of flesh against metal. No words spoken. He finished with a low grunt, and let her shuffle away to wash his presence from her body. In the end, he laid on the bed unmoving. Wondering when was the last time anyone looked at him without disgust. 

She stepped back into the room, averting her eyes. He stood and dressed, offering her the established fee. Now was the time for her to leave and probably never deal with him again. But she stood still, her eyes darting around the room. Then she spoke. 

“What are you?” None of them had ever asked him. He had always felt the morbid stares. But never- “All of them say you are a monster. But I bet you are some kind of new omnic.” She was bold. Too naïve. He could kill her and nobody would know. So easily. And still, she continued to speak. 

“Did they make you with human parts? Did you kill them? Was it the government?” Too many questions. None of them something he wanted to think about. His jaw clenched. The girl noticed and slowly stopped. Her eyes shone with fear. She bowed, and fled out the door. 

He remained in place for hours, staring at the open door she left behind. What was he? Not human. Artificial enough to be an omnic. And yet he once hadn’t been. He had been a normal, breathing human being. One that was warm and soft to the touch. One that could walk freely and love unbothered. One that had died. 

Maybe he was a monster. It was all anyone saw. And he couldn’t blame them. He saw it too. In the end, it didn’t matter. He knew what he no longer was. He couldn’t wish it back, or fight for it. He could only make those responsible pay. And then, what would he be? 

  


  


Sake. His brother used to tell him it was the beverage of the gods. That its subtle undertones could only be appreciated by a worthy soul. Bullshit. It was just another way to get drunk. A bland one at that. Back in Hanamura, drinking it with the clan had had a special meaning. Bonding. At least for them. He had just been happy not having to deal with them sober. He much rather have whiskey. 

The bartender stared at him. He had been doing so since the moment he stepped in. As a matter of fact, everyone else was doing it too. He lost himself in the ripples in his cup, expecting his reflection to disappear. He let his fingers linger on the table, unmoving. Nobody looked away. They waited for him to prove their whispers wrong. A man near him glared, scoffing at the bartender. 

“Since when do we let omnics drink sake?” A grumble of approval spread around the man. McCree had always told him a good drink was like a punch to the gut. What exactly he meant by that was never clear to him. The cowboy used to say many things. Most of them sounded like gibberish, but at the time they had made sense. Everything made sense after a dozen drinks. 

“What’s it gonna do, pour it all over itself? What a bloody waste!” A hearty chuckle. The man continued to stare. To smirk. Genji turned to look at him. Such an ugly face. Unbalanced, contorted. His smile lacked warmth. All around him, people laughed. They pulled their heads back and pinched their eyes. But their nose didn’t wrinkle cutely, and their eyes never shone with passion. Or pity. 

“Oi, omnic. Gimme that. Do something useful for a change!” Useful. Right. Commendable. Yes. Get a medal, let himself be called a hero. Like he had ever done that. “Tincan! I’m talking to you!” The man stood up. Walked up to him in what he thought was a menacing way. The bar grew silent. He knew what came next. He could speak to him and explain. Take pity of his ignorance. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

The man was right on one thing. He wouldn’t be able to drink this way. He touched his face the moment the man spoke again. Pulled his visor off in time to smell the alcohol in his breath, and took his first sip to the sound of gasps. The yells came soon after. Now they were frightened. Wide-eyed. Called him a monster and an abomination. They always reacted this way. He would probably be kicked out. 

Soon after, he walked the streets clutching a bottle of Sake with one hand and his visor with the other. The night was cold, but the sensation was lost to him. Snow piled neatly on the buildings’ faces. The familiar crunch beneath his feet reminded him of so many nights spent wandering. All the same as this one and any other. 

He had once found the doctor in a similar night. She sat at a terrace, staring up to the sky. Snowflakes stuck to her hair, and the moon bathed her in silver. And as her shoulders rose and fell, he had watched her. He never reached forward, or spoke. In that moment, she was an angel. Snow had been so pure. Warm. Just for a moment. 

He saw people pass him by, some recoiling, others avoiding. Few paying him no mind. They talked between them of past experiences and current friends. Couples holding hands, keeping each other warm. And among them, a single phrase. ‘What a lovely night’. 

  


  


Sometimes, he would forget everything. When he woke in the morning and he couldn’t remember his name. Those times, he was a little kid ready to go find his brother and play. His body felt so light. Then, he could feel the hard mattress underneath him, and the stiffness of metal weighing him down. He would remember the nights before. The killing, the questioning, the failure. And he would wish for it to go away. 

It never did. He would stand up and read all the papers he had already read a hundred times, to come to a new conclusion that seemed more improvable than the last. And he would make a plan. Travel to a new country. Drain every single lead to the last bit of information. Fail. It merged within itself. Days became months. Those that aided him were his enemies, and all clues were dead ends. 

He was lost. He had long been walking in circles, expecting a path to open in front of him. It had been that way well before what he admitted. Now he wanted it to be over. For it to finish by his hand or any other. But he couldn’t stop. He would force his way forward, refusing to see what was obvious. 

When days were the same, he could tell the end of each of them. As always, he would fight. And as always, his brother wouldn’t be there. But when he went to sleep with frustration in his head and the incessant buzzing in his ears, he knew that as always, he had something to wake for. 

  


  


She had changed. Dark bags pooled under her eyes, and her brows pinched together in a constant frown. She spoke dryly. She was professional, stoic. Her eyes looked away from the camera, staring at a distant point in front of her. They didn’t move. It was only her mouth, appearing detached from her face. She answered every question as concisely and politely as a tailored speaker, leaving the interviewer with little to respond. 

And still, she was beautiful. Her tied hair left loose strands to trickle down her shoulders, and the blue of her eyes was ever present. The words she spoke never reached his ears, lost in the movement of her lips. He couldn’t hear anything around him, but his mind pieced it together. Morrison was dead. Reyes was dead. Overwatch… was dead. 

It was pain. Sharp, and unexpected. A tangible knot in his throat that refused to let him breath. It was the shine of unshed tears so clear in her eyes, and the obvious effort to keep them back. It was confusion, and the soft whisper of her name between his lips. It was so many things coming together and crumbling apart. Realization. 

It finished abruptly, with a commercial break. He snapped back to reality, but felt everything as clear as before. He leaned back, letting his mind race against what it all meant. He had imagined this day countless times. He had expected to smile smugly, as if proving a point. He had expected happiness and true freedom. But a constant thorn of sadness and nostalgia refused to let him smile. Slowly, he reached for the forgotten quill that laid by his bedside. 

It had been his life. The people that he had despised. It was her. She had been there for him. Always. Among Overwatch, she was the only one to truly sympathize with him. She had never stopped trying. He couldn’t understand why she had made this to him. He still blamed her for not letting him die. At times, he hated her. But when he had lost everything, she had been there. And now, maybe, he could try to repay her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People change quite a lot when left on their own.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Letters

 

#  **Letters**  

  

It had been a long shift, as they all were. Her eyes refused to remain open, pulled down by the weight of every patient. The nurses looked at her with worry, and advised to go home. She had been sleeping here for weeks, catching short naps on her desk or huddled on a couch. But she couldn't listen to them beyond polite laughs. These might be her final weeks in here. The last time she got to help them. 

So as tired as she might be, this was her home for the time being. The only place she was busy enough not to overthink. If she managed to schedule enough work, her dreams became blank. She could not go back to that day when she was the only thing keeping someone alive. And still, memories crept up unannounced. Their faces. Their cries. The destruction. And the dreaded feeling of impotence that had plagued her ever since. 

Now, heading back towards her office, she fought to keep herself awake. She almost missed the soft glow of her computer in the dark. She reached forward in an attempt to dim the light, but paused at the impossible amount of emails that called for her response. Incriminating. They had started to arrive hours after her interview aired, and had not stopped. Most were angry and hateful. They accused her of everything Overwatch had been, and that which they had not achieved. Of not saying anything. Of surviving.  

She knew no good would come out of reading them, but she still sat down and abandoned the possibility of rest. In the same way her own mind reminded her of that day, she needed to know what others had seen. To validate her thoughts. Or to contradict them. Something to tell her what had gone wrong. With practiced movements she opened each and every one of them, but answered none. Most were what she had expected. Angry people. Journalists. Few that gave her their condolences. As hours passed by, she let her eyes wander anywhere else. 

Barely illuminated by the hallway light, a small piece of pink paper stuck out from one of the many folders on her desk. As she was rarely at her office, most of the paperwork she needed to fill was notified this way. Choosing to busy herself, she gently pulled it out. Inside the folder, she found a letter. It had no sender, and at a first glance, it appeared be from another opinionated jerk. It was curt. Even if she had read similar words hundreds of times, something oddly familiar seeped through every phrase. It bothered her. With unease, she read it for the fourth time. 

 _May 3_ _rd_ _, 2039_  

 _Dr. Ziegler,_  

 _I saw you in the news today._  

 _The fall of_ _Overwatch_ _was inevitable. As you know,  I wished for it a long time._  

 _I am glad to see you are safe. You were always the most honorable among them. You will surely walk a better path._  

 _An old patient._  

 

She turned the piece of paper over, searching for any clues to validate the loose idea that had started to form in her head. Sure enough, marked clearly with black ink at the bottom of the page, a single dragon chased its tail. It was enough to confirm her suspicion and make her thoughts run wild. Her fatigue had disappeared. She sighed and stood up, crumpling the letter in her fist. 

Genji. How long had it been since she last thought of him? A lot longer than she felt comfortable admitting. So much time had passed. The memory the angry man had stopped being a priority. When he had first left, she had felt sick. It had not been long before his innocence was proven, and the heavy knot of guilt had only become bigger after that. She would visit his room sometimes, when she had walked the headquarters by herself.  

Truly he hadn't been the best company, or agent. Many times she had wondered why she even bothered. But she had missed him. His angry frowns and steel resolve. His very rare smiles, and the way his eyes softened just a little when he looked at her.  Soon more important matters had occupied that space. With the mediatic attention Overwatch had been receiving and the inevitable confrontation within it, there had been little time for her to worry about the past.  

But now, all the questions came back to her. The memories. Her hopes. And with them, another thing to worry about. She wished she could answer in some way, but he had left no way to contact him. It made sense. Still, and as much as she wanted to forget about it and have one less problem, she wanted to know what it meant. 

Surely, he was still angry. He was probably still chasing his brother down. He would be rude and unapologetic. Maybe talking to him would only hurt her. But the Genji she had known would have never written to her. Would not hope for her future. Maybe only a little, but he had changed. And she needed something to hold on to. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The second letter had come almost a year after the first. She had resigned herself never to hear of him again, sometimes even wondering if it had really been Genji who had written to her. Eventually life had resumed its daily routines, and Overwatch had become only a recurring bad memory. She woke up early, and sometimes did not sleep. She gave herself to her work as much as she did before, maybe even more. Distractions were plentiful, and she considered herself lucky to still be able to practice medicine. She lived every day at a time. 

When she had sat at her desk and seen the familiar envelope, a part of her had recoiled. She wanted it not to be real. As ashamed as she was about it, the letter had remained unopened for months. She had not thrown it away, but rather hidden it deep below paperwork, trying her best to keep it out of mind. And every day, her eyes would stare at it through any obstacle she placed between them, beckoning her. She chastised herself for her childish attitude, but it had never been enough for her to open it.  In truth, she was angry. 

The months that had followed the fall of Overwatch had been the hardest she had ever experienced. They had made her question everything she stood for. Everything she was. Still today, she chose not to think about it. She had clutched with a vice grip anything that had made her feel any better. Her work. Her few remaining friends. She had been terrified to be alone and let her thoughts carry her back into darkness.  

She had never spoken of her concerns, even if she still kept in contact with her former teammates. As much as she had wished for help, she could tell none of them were ready to speak about it freely, let alone let others into their pain. Sadly she understood their position all too well. 

When his first letter had arrived, she had hoped he would keep her company, if only through words. He had never been afraid to speak his mind, and the strictly honest and straightforward attitude he showed her meant he would tell her the truth. No embellishments. And then, she would have been able to confront them. To truly get over it. Somehow, she had convinced herself that with his help, everything would be better. 

Now she knew she was being naïve. Even selfish. He would have never been that kind of support. He knew little about the true reasons behind that day, and most of his opinions were solely based on his resentment. He had never been able to forget about himself long enough to ponder on other people's lives, even less be there for them. Her relying on him would have only hurt her deeply, and solved nothing. The letter had filled her with a childish hope that had refused to go away. 

When nothing had come, and she was left with silence, it all crumbled. Even if she repeated to herself he had never written anything about other letters, or even spoken to her kindly, she still believed he had left her behind. When she had been there for him through years on end, he had been unable to send a second letter. He was selfish, uncaring and above all, an ungrateful prick. And now that she had been able to slowly start to rebuild herself, he chose to make an appearance. 

The lights in her office were dimmed and cold, painting everything blue. She had been slowly reading her way through patient files for hours, and her growing fatigue indicated it was time to go home. But her thoughts kept getting pulled to the letter and who had written it. She was curious. She could read it just once, and then throw it away. Forget about it and let herself heal. But his opinion had always been important to her. She wanted to know about him. She wanted him to forgive her. With a sigh, she reached for the envelope. 

 

 _March 27_ _th_ _,_ _2040_  

 _Dr. Ziegler,_  

 _I hope you are doing fine. I do not have television where I am, but I know you got to keep your license. Congratulations._  

 _You made bad choices in your life, but you don't deserve to lose it. You will_ _see the fall of Overwatch was beneficial._  

 _I am currently living at an Omnic monastery in Nepal. They have agreed to help me reach my goals._  

 _You can write to the Namche Bazaar, in Khumbu. I await your answer._  

 

She was confused. There was no signature this time, but a complete address was scribbled at the bottom of the paper, written with the same messy and sharp handwriting as the rest of it. It didn't make sense. Any of it. Her surprise was such that she couldn't bring himself to be angry at his lack of respect.  

Out of all the things she had imagined Genji doing, joining an omnic monastery wasn't even in her list. She had expected him to join a mafia or be a mercenary. In the most extreme of cases, to simply try and live a normal life. But this. This almost seemed like a joke.  And the Genji she had known never joked. 

She picked the single feather that had dropped from the envelope, rubbing it between her fingers. If there was the faintest chance that this was truly Genji, then it meant a lot more than a simple conversation. He might truly be changing for the better. The way he addressed her was still deeply inappropriate, but she had grown used to it.  

As many people said, she did have a bleeding heart. If this helped him change and forgive, then she would do it. With determination, she grabbed the nearest piece of paper and wrote her first hand-written letter.  

 

 _May 29_ _th_ _, 2040_  

 _Genji,_  

 _It has been a long time. Have you been taking care of your prosthetics as we discussed? It is important to give_ _them_ _enough and proper maintenance. Not doing so will greatly hinder your abilities._  

 _Yes, I kept my medical license. I am grateful for the opportunity to keep practicing and helping people._  

 _I am glad to hear you are doing well. What is life in a monastery like?_  

 _Please direct any further mail to my home address._  

 

 _Dr. Ziegler._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _August 7_ _th_ _, 2040_  

 

 _Dr. Ziegler,_  

 _I have. The omnic monks are_ _knowledgeable_ _when it comes to mechanical parts. They have even upgraded them._  

 _They are confusing. They_ _constantly_ _talk about something they call the Iris. They also try to make me meditate. It is annoying._  

 _They_ _speak of things like life and souls, even if they are machines._  

 _I am still waiting for them to train me. I do not think I will stay much longer if they do not._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _November 21_ _st_ _, 2040_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _Please remember to also take care of your organic components._  

 _I have done a small amount of research about these monks. If I'm correct, they are the_ _Shambali_ _order. They stemmed from a_ _Buddhist_ _monastery of the region after the original_ _population_ _refused their stay after years of cohabitation._  

 _Their leader,_ _Tekhartha Mondatta, is actually a prominent figure in_ _omnic-human relations. He was held hostage by omnic terrorists during King Row's uprising. I was part of the squad dispatched to rescue him._  

 _The small amount of time I spent with him was_ _enlightening_ _. He is very wise._ _I recommend listening to their preaches._  

 _I hope this letter reaches you before the holidays. I do not know if they are celebrated there, but please_ _accept_ _this gift._  

 

 _Happy Holidays!_  

 _Dr. Ziegler_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _January 8_ _th_ _, 2041_  

 

 _Dr. Ziegler,_  

 _Sadly, your letter reached me too late. I appreciate the gift._  

 _The monks do not celebrate Christmas, but they held a small party for the new year. I think they did so to please me._  

 _Tekhartha_ _rarely speaks to me, as it is very busy. It does seem to remember the Uprising, but does so differently. It expressed its sadness about omnics having to move underground, and wishes for it to have gone differently._  

 _Maybe if Overwatch had not intervened, it would have been able to deal with the terrorists itself._  

 _But that never_ _occurred_ _to you._  

 _I have taken your advice and done as they say. It is boring._ _Z_ _enyatta_ _says I must clear my mind. It must be easy for them, as they can just run a program to do so._  

 _I gift you a robe the monks gave me. You will surely find some use for it. I hope your holidays were merry._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _March 12_ _th_ _, 2041_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _Everyone was sad to hear about the conclusion of the uprising. Many innocent omnics and humans were harmed. However, I still believe Overwatch's intervention contained what could have been a much bigger crisis._  

 _Who is Zenyatta?_  

 _I am sure that, as with every skill, practicing will make you better at it. The human mind has many similarities to a computer_ _so in a way_ _, humans also run_ _program_ _s_ _to d_ _o about every task._  

 _The robe you gave me is beautiful. Even if I can't wear it, it makes an stunning ornament. Is the eye-shaped symbol depicted in it the Iris? I hope I am not being disrespectful to them by hanging it on a wall._  

 

 _Best of wishes,_  

 _Dr. Ziegler._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _May 1_ _st_ _, 2041_  

 

 _Dr. Ziegler,_  

 _Overwatch always meddled in matters they shouldn't have. Many parts of the world would be better off if they had just kept to themselves. Many people would be much better._  

 _Zenyatta is the monk I first met. In a way,_ _it_ _is_ _my mentor. It is very different from Tekhartha, even if they look almost the same to me. Even if Zenyatta is childish, it is also wise._  

 _I have tried to practice meditation further, and it has become easier. It still bothers me greatly, but it also clears my mind. You should try it._  

 _The human mind is nothing like a computer. We are never told what to do. We have no strict rules. What makes us different is we can choose._  

 _I have asked Zenyatta, and it said_ _you are free to use the robe however you wish. It also said the symbol is indeed the Iris, and you should embrace it._  

 

 _Genji._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _June 30_ _th_ _, 2041_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _We can never know what the world might have been if Overwatch had never intervened. But we can know how it was before it did. We saved many lives, and fought for what we thought was right. In the end, that is what matters._  

 _It must be interesting to have a childish mentor. It never_ _occurred_ _to me a monk might be that way. I also fail at picturing how that would look like._  

 _I have tried, but it always seems that all that time I could have been doing something a lot more useful. I can't bring myself to sit and do nothing while I could be helping people some way._  

 _With the revolution in artificial intelligence during the past few decades, we achieved programs that could think for themselves. We chose those that acted the most like us. We made them that way. Ultimately what goes inside their heads is a constant evaluation of future actions and_ _jud_ _gements_ _. They are not that different from us in that matter._  

 _Please tell Zenyatta I have embraced the Iris, and think it is quite soft._  

 

 _Best of wishes,_  

 _Dr. Ziegler._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _July 28_ _th_ _, 2041_  

 

 _Dr. Ziegler,_  

 _What matters is what you did was right. You can always put barriers up to defend a_ _flawed_ _reason, but it is still wrong to act upon it. The acts of Overwatch were wrong, and no amount of justification will make them right._  

 _Zenyatta always teases me and the other monks. I have asked it, and it said laughter lets you deal with serious things easier. I fail to see how that means pulling pranks on others._  

 _I am aware of how artificial intelligence works. But we as humans are the ones who built them. We_ _established_ _rules for them to follow so they could serve us. It doesn't matter how they got to where they are. They don't have the soul or free will of a man._  

 _Zenyatta said he is glad to hear that, and will gladly send you any more Irises for you to embrace._  

 

 _Genji._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _August 23_ _rd_ _, 2041_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _We can never act in consideration of everyone. Sometimes_ _the greater good is something worth sacrificing for._  

 _I find him to be quite amusing. I would love to meet him. I also think_ _humo_ _r_ _can be a great way to alleviate tension. There is ample research on the matter. Maybe he knows what will work better._  

 _We still don't know what a soul is. We don’t know what makes humans_ _conscious_ _, or even if animals and plants are too. All that we know is how our brain processes information. That itself came from billions of years of evolution, trial and error. Maybe ours came from time and luck, but that does not mean it is anything more than consciousness achieved by programming._  

 _Especially you, who is in constant contact with_ _omnics_ _, should be able to tell any differences. I choose to believe they are b_ _eings_ _with_ _consciousness_ _, and if you want to call it that way, a soul._  

 _Please tell him I_ _would be_ _greatly_ _honored to receive any gifts from him, and will cover all my walls with them if he so wishes._  

 

 _Best of Wishes,_  

 _Dr. Ziegler_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _September 28_ _th_ _, 2041_  

 

 _Morrison used to say that. It sickens me that you might think others should be sacrificed for the values of an organization._  

 _What makes you think of yourself so above others?_  

 _Have you ever thought about what they want?_  

 _I always thought you were a lot more than him, but it seems I was wrong._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _November 13_ _th_ _, 20_ _41_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _I  do not think that way. It is easy to lose yourself in what you think is right and not to admit any_ _criticism_ _. I believe Jack suffered from this in the very end. Many parts of Overwatch were corrupt and blinded, but I never stopped trying to set them in what I thought was the right path._  

 _Maybe I was wrong, and my actions hurt more people than they helped. I think about it constantly, and it scares me. I have always tried to help people, and as_ _naïve_ _as it may sound, I wanted a better world for everyone._  

 _I was never_ _able_ _to see the results of my actions until it was already too late. I will never know if they were truly the right thing to do, so I can only hope._  

 _When I see the destruction and hurt that Overwatch caused, I feel responsible. I know I could have done better._ _And_ _maybe, more people would be alive today. I truly wish I could undo every mistake. But I can't._  

 _The only option I have left is to wait. I am impotent when confronted with all of it. As much as I wish to say what I did was right, I cannot. I can only act as I think is the best way, and let time have its way._  

 _I hope you will someday forgive me for what I let them do to you. I could have stopped them if I had only tried. But I was afraid. The guilt will never leave me. I am truly sorry._  

 

 _Angela._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _January 19_ _th_ _, 2042_  

 

 _Dr. Ziegler,_  

 _Zenyatta once told me the best of intentions turn dark when acted on_ _incorrectly. I do not believe that good intentions are enough to justify_ _negative_ _outcomes._  

 _While I can't say I forgive you, I have come to understand my anger towards you is_ _not beneficial to me. I understand your motives._  

 _Zenyatta also sent you a mantle, and wishes for you to know your honesty moves him deeply._  

 

 _Genji._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _February 21_ _st_ _, 2042_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _I understand._  

 _Please tell Zenyatta the mantle is lovely. I have_ _hung_ _it on the opposite wall as the first, and stare into the Iris_ _everytime_ _I wake up._  

 _I was not aware he read our mail. But I am glad to read he found it compelling._  

 

 _Angela_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _March 19_ _th_ _, 2042_  

 

 _Dr. Ziegler,_  

 _Zenyatta said he is sorry if he came out as nosey, and what he truly meant is he is glad we made up. He has sent you a couple of beads as a gift in hopes you will forgive him._  

 _At times, omnics seem a lot more human than any man I met. Even more than what I was. Or am._  

 

 _Genji_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _April 23_ _rd_ _, 2042_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _The beads are also lovely. Please tell Zenyatta he is forgiven._  

 _The hospital I work at has been employing omnics for more than 10 years. I have come across as many different personalities in them as humans have distinct faces. Sometimes the_ _omnics_ _were more compassionate and human than any other nurse or doctor._  

 _When it comes to you, I believe you get benefits from both sides._  

 

 _Best of wishes,_  

 _Angela_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _May 29_ _th_ _, 2042_  

 

 _Dr. Ziegler,_  

 _That is not true. I wandered the world for years, expecting to find my brother. I went to places that hated omnics, and others that hated humans._ _Yet I was never treated as any of them. They ran away from me as they saw me approach, and  called after me with any insult they could come up with._  

 _It was only when I came here that I understood the difference lies with the people and not the place. You cannot be welcomed everywhere, but the right people will make you feel at home anywhere._  

 _I do not have_ _the best_ _of both worlds. I am neither human, nor omnic. I am an abomination that shouldn't_ _have_ _existed. But I was able to find a place to belong. I am lucky._  

 

 _Genji_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _June_ _17_ _th_ _, 2042_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _I am glad you feel you belong. Please let the monks know I am grateful to them for aiding you when I couldn't._  

 _Starting the following_ _year_ _I will be part of a UN_ _in_ _itiative_ _to aid war zones all around the globe. It will be a lot more difficult to receive letters. Please address them to the UN. They will get them to me._  

 

 _Best of wishes,_  

 _Angela_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _July 20_ _th_ _, 2042_  

 

 _Dr. Ziegler,_  

 _I greatly appreciate your effort to help me during all the years I was an agent. They aided me in ways even I didn't know I needed._  

 _You have always preferred being on the field. I am happy for you. I am sure you will be able to help many people. Please remain safe._  

 _Today the trees in the monastery started to flower. It reminded me of the cherry blossoms back at home. I never noticed it before, but this place is breathtaking._  

 

 _Genji_  

* * *

 

 

 _August 24_ _th_ _, 2042_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _Is that so? It seemed to me you didn't like them at all. If so, I would believe you are much softer than I imagined._  

 _That is what I hope. As much as I enjoy research and the hospital, the field is much more exciting._  

 _I would love to see it. When I first visited Japan, it was during the cherry blossom season. I understand why you are so_ _pro_ _ud_ _of them. They made me feel like I was walking on a velvet carpet._  

 

 _Best of wishes,_  

 _Angela_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _September 22_ _nd_ _, 2042_  

 

 _Dr. Ziegler,_  

 _I wasn't able to express myself with ease at that time. I wished for you to leave me alone. But you must also know I am as hard as steel._  

 _Did you ever consider a career in the military? It_ _would be_ _exciting._  

 _It is not only the cherry blossoms. I had never stopped to admire the beauty of a landscape. My eyes are opened._  

 

 _Genji._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _October 25_ _th_ _, 2042_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _That was a very bad joke. But I will laugh, as it is the first you have ever told me._  

 _I cannot stand the thought of harming other people. The idea of solving political or_ _economic_ _conflicts through bloodshed is plainly barbaric. The only reason I_ _choose_ _to work near battlegrounds is because they need me at them the most. I would put an end to all fighting if I could._  

 _That is a shame. The Swiss headquarters were beautiful. But I guess the Himalayas are as good as the_ _Alp_ _s_ _._  

 

 _Best of wishes,_  

 _Angela_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _November 17_ _th_ _, 2042_  

 

 _Dr. Ziegler,_  

 _I apologize. I am rusty. I used to be able to make any girl laugh. But it seems I have lost my touch._  

 _Zenyatta has ordered me to tell you the following joke. He says you will think it's hilarious. "What did the skeleton order at the bar? A beer and a mop."_  

 _Some battles are worth fighting. It is also human nature to do so._  

 _There is a single sight I miss greatly._  

 

 _Genji_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _December 13_ _th_ _, 2042_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _I do not believe it. All evidence points to the opposite conclusion._  

 _That was a_ _genuinely_ _good joke. He has a great sense of humor.  Please tell him the following: "Why did the skeleton need a friend? Because he was_ _bonely_ _!"._  

 _That is not true. Many people are_ _naturally_ _peaceful. As humans we should be able to talk out our differences instead of_ _attacking_ _each other_ _like animals._  

 _I do miss the giant sculpture of Jack quite a lot._  

 _Happy holidays! I made you and Zenyatta a little something to keep you warm, even if I know you don't need it. It is my first attempt at knitting, but it came out acceptable. I hope._  

 _Starting January_ _first, I will be deployed. Please remember to address your letters to the UN._  

 

 _Merry Holidays!_  

 _Angela_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _January 24_ _th_ _, 2043_  

 

 _Dr. Ziegler,_  

 _You are cruel. I used to be quite the looker. You were simply not able to admire me._  

 _I have told him. I refuse to continue serving as a joke passer. You an address him directly in another letter._  

 _We are animals. Certain instincts cannot be lost. It is self-preservation. The monks also agree with me, saying certain objectives require force._  

 _I do not wish to remember Commander Morrison, and_ _would_ _appreciate if you didn't mention him._  

 _Thanks. Zenyatta also refuses to take it off. I have sent you something I made. I cannot knit, but paper is easy to get. I hope it reaches you._  

 

 _Stay safe,_  

 _Genji._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _March 7_ _th_ _, 2043_  

 

 _Dr. Ziegler,_  

 _Are you doing_ _okay_ _?_  

 _I don't know if my letters are reaching you, but I hope you are doing_ _fine._ _Zenyatta_ _has also sent you several of them._  

 _I had a long talk with him today about what it means to be human. He is very wise. I did not appreciate his efforts before, but he was patient with me. Even if I am not human, the heart of  man still beats inside me._  

 

 _Stay safe,_  

 _Genji._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _June 11_ _th_ _, 2043_  

 

 _Angela,_  

 _Are you receiving these letters? I have not gotten any_ _news_ _from you for a long time. Are you_ _okay_ _? Please answer me as soon as possible._  

 _I had a dream. I don’t_ _generally_ _dream. When I_ _do,_ _they_ _are filled with dread and fear. I see a monster. It preys on me, because it knows I'm weak. It eats me every time, and I silently accept it. I float in a turbulent sea of black, and let everything slip away._  

 _But this_ _time_ _I could not remain calm. I fought against the monster and for the first time, I lived. I don't know if the monks dream, but I wanted to tell you first._  

 

 _Please be safe,_  

 _Genji._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _July 22_ _nd_ _, 2043_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _I am terribly sorry. I have been_ _stationed_ _at so many different places that the letters never arrived on time. I hope I did not make you worry too much._  

 _Life here is hectic, and I barely get to sleep. But I am finally helping the people as I longed for._  

 _I also received all of Zenyatta's letters and found all his jokes hilarious. You should read them._  

 _The paper flower was beautiful. Thankfully it only crumpled a little bit._  

 _Commander Morrison was a great man. As everyone, he had his flaws. But he was a man of_ _ideals_ _and a real will to help people. You might not like him, but to many he was a hero._  

 _I cannot tell you what your dream is. It_ _unsettles me to hear you had it recurrently._  

 _I don't have much time to write. I await your letters impatiently._  

 

 _Best of wishes,_  

 _Angela._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _August 27_ _th_ _, 2043_  

 

 _Angela,_  

 _Morrison was the embodiment of_ _everything_ _that was wrong with Overwatch. He was full of himself. He believed he was this perfect model of a soldier, when in reality he  only followed orders._  

 _Reyes might've been rougher, but he understood reality. He didn't let his ideals get in the way of what needed to be done. He was brave._  

 _Morrison only sat down to ponder and ruminate like a cow until someone else told him what to do._  

 _He was selfish and intolerable. Among_ _every_ _member of Overwatch, he is the only one I am truly glad died._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _October_ _3_ _rd_ _, 2043_  

 

 _I am_ _disappointed_ _. It seemed like you had been able to advance  and think of others, but you just went back to the angry child I_ _knew._  

 _Jack was a great man. He saved countless lives, and while you were out_ _obsessively_ _hunting people down like a madman, he was the one dealing with all the trouble you caused._  

 _You were an obsessed animal that thought about nothing but revenge, and would have stepped over anyone to get it. You were a selfish bastard that treated everyone like trash because you were too angry to realize we saved your life._  

 _You made it impossible to deal with you during your little tantrum, refusing to ever deal with it like a man._  

 _Jack was a hundred times better than you in every aspect. If letting you die that day would have prevented all that happened, I really should have._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _March 7_ _th_ _, 2044_  

 

 _Angela,_  

 _I apologize. Your words are true, even when I try to tell myself otherwise._  

 _I lived my_ _life thinking_ _of a single thing, forgetting  about what made it worth living in the first place. But I was that way to keep myself from realizing I had no will left. Because I always wanted to live._  

 _When I was lying in a pool of my blood and you pulled me out of it, I was glad. Every mission, every time I risked my life, it reminded me that I didn't want to die._  

 _It is an excuse, but it is the only thing I had. I can now see the way I treated you was_ _unacceptable_ _. It were_ _my actions which stripped me of my humanity, not my body._  

 _You are a kind person. You always put others before yourself, even when they treat you like I did. I deserved none of it but you still gave it to me._  

 _I am sorry. For the times I yelled at you and backhanded your help. For the times I spoke to you without consideration and with nothing but_ _ungratefulness_ _._  

 _You saved my life. And I thank you. The mistakes you made are nothing to me. I hope you will be able to forgive me, as I have you._  

 

 _Genji_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _May 8_ _th_ _, 2044_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _Reading your letter makes me happy. I would have never expected you to apologize. You have truly changed._  

 _I forgive you, but I won't forget what you have said. Jack was my teammate, but above all he was my friend. I will not let you speak of him that way._  

 _I hope that in time you will see the_ _perspective_ _Overwatch had, and come to forgive all of us._  

 _I cannot stop smiling._ _Your_ _words mean a lot more than you think._  

 

 _Best of wishes,_  

 _Angela_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _July 16_ _th_ _, 2044_  

 

 _Angela,_  

 _I will be leaving Nepal in_ _search of my brother. I know he is not dead, and I don't intend to kill him either._  

 _Your words and the teachings of my master have shown me how greatly mistaken I was. My brother must be in pain, and it is time I forgive him. I do not know if I will find him, or if he will kill me again. But it is my duty to try._  

 _Please take care. Zenyatta will continue to send you letters._  

 

 _Be safe,_  

 _Genji._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _October 1_ _st_ _, 2044_  

 

 _Angela,_  

 _I have received a message._  

 _Overwatch agents all over the world are being recalled. I don't know what this is about, but it troubles me. I have still not found my brother, but I am sure of where he might be._  

 _I cannot currently answer the recall, as I am still unsure if I want to. Overwatch fell for a reason. But I am aware that things tend to change._  

 _Hopefully you will aid me in my decision._  

 

 _Be safe,_  

 _Genji_  

* * *

 

 

 _November 3_ _rd_ _, 2044_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _I also received the recall, and am indecisive._  

 _All Overwatch operations were explicitly forbidden by the UN after the incident. This is illegal. Still, the omnic forces and Talon have had a spike in activity during the last few months._  

 _There is something boiling and if the worst comes to play, I wish to help. I cannot force you to do so too. Please do not rush your decision._  

 _Find your brother._  

 

 _Angela_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _November 15_ _th_ _, 2044_  

 

 _Genji,_  

 _I am so sorry. Tekhartha has been_ _assassinated_ _by Talon._  

 _Write back as soon as you can. He was a_ _wonderful_ _omnic._  

 _I am sorry, Genji._  

 

 _Angela_  

 

* * *

 

 

 _December 20_ _th_ _, 2044_  

 

 _Angela,_  

 _I have returned to Nepal in hopes to be with my master during this period. I miss Tekhartha, as I'm sure my master does too. I am feeling a sadness I_ _had_ _n't_ _felt for a long time._  

 _Zenyatta tells me he is fine, but I can see he is not. I will stay with him. I have not cried for such a long time._  

 _Your kind words help us both. Thank you._  

 _I made you something to celebrate the holidays. Hopefully it will keep you company as it has done for me._  

 

 _Genji._  

 

* * *

 

 

 _January 2_ _nd_ _, 2045_  

 

 _Angela,_  

 _Zenyatta and I will be leaving Nepal to go search for my brother_ _together_ _. I fear leaving him alone might hurt us both._  

 _If all goes according to plan, I will arrive at the Gibraltar station in a couple of months. I am willing to fight._  

 _I hope to see you there._  

 

_Be safe,_

_Genji_  

 

She looked at the letter in her hands, tracing the lonely dragon that had always chased its own tail. The constant movement of the plane didn't let her concentrate, but she didn't mind. She was much farther away. Things had changed. Everything had started moving again without her, and they were heading somewhere she might not like. Her heart beat wildly. There was a knot in her throat she could not swallow down, and the seat belt restrained her when all she wanted to do was run away.  

She had been to this place countless times before. She had aided in hundreds of operations and saved more lives than she could remember. She was no longer the young girl that had once hoped to fulfill her dreams using Overwatch. She knew how things worked. She had changed. Everything had changed. Today, the world needed her again. And she would deliver the way she knew best. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, Overwatch agents have been recalled.  
> We are slowly but surely nearing the end of the story.  
> For those that wished to see Zenyatta's and Genji's interactions, I will be doing a separate fic for that period.  
> If you have any comments or doubts, feel free to tell me.
> 
> Thank you for sticking through this incredibly long chapter!


End file.
